


Sword dance

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo stood at the edge of the clearing, staring avidly as Orcrist swept low, cutting down an enemy below the knees, never slowing as the king followed the movement upwards, sword flowing so naturally with him into the new position that it made something hot unfold deep inside the hobbit.  The call of something as beautiful as any of Yavanna's treasures leaving him frozen, unwilling to cause the silken flow of grace to stop.</p><p>-can be read as gen-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword dance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> inspired by Thorin's footwork that struck out at me in Natalia Rose's The Cave music vid, starting at 1:04 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rr1mlhaDKRw
> 
> NOTE 1 >> in case you aren't familiar with sword forms, this was something like what I was seeing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZ7oDlXq9BM
> 
> in case you'd like to have the song play as you read :D https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTW_4R5_wLw

It was their second morning at Beorn's house, and Bilbo found himself wandering the grounds in bright sunshine. He should be sleeping off that lovely breakfast and the last weeks of painfully dangerous travel, but it seemed he was getting used to the excitement that had filled every moment since he'd left his home behind. 

He'd made use of the baths and done what repairs to his clothing he could yesterday, and his new sword didn't seem to require the care the others had to give their weapons at every opportunity. And so now he was wandering, looking for something to capture his interest. Preferably away from the dwarrows that were reacting to the lessening in tension by turning rowdy; making them unsafe companions for a small hobbit who would prefer not to accumulate any more bruises, thank you and good day.

Once he'd passed the first layer of trees into the forest, he thought he heard an unfamiliar stuttering whistle sliding through the air, accompanied by occasional heavy thumps. Frowning and fingering the hilt of his sword, he only hesitated for a moment before creeping toward the sounds. Really, he was entirely a shame to the name Baggins!

What he found was Thorin in a clearing, down to his brigantine and.. seeming to flow through the air as he battled invisible enemies(see note 1). 

Bilbo stood at the edge of the clearing, staring avidly as Orcrist swept low, cutting down an enemy below the knees, never slowing as the king followed the movement upwards, sword flowing so naturally with him into the new position that it made something hot unfold deep inside the hobbit. The call of something as beautiful as any of Yavanna's treasures leaving him frozen, unwilling to cause the silken flow of grace to stop. 

But he watched, oh yes he watched, as the sword, and Thorin's body with it, continued to move. From high to low, stabbing, swirling, ducking; even jumping, heavy dwarven boots and all. Bilbo could see there were some very specific alignments of steel and flesh being created every few instants before everything whirled and some new way was used to make that edged steel into a source of death for anyone foolish enough to stand before the powerful dwarf wielding it. 

It was mesmerizing, breathtaking, and the hobbit could feel his blood pounding to join the fight, to be part of that symphony of movement. Back and forth across the clearing the whirling dervish flowed, from the simplest, most efficient killing stroke, to eye-defying exhibitions. Energy almost visibly gathering from one movement to the next, and the next, and to a holding position of such perfect control that Bilbo knew nothing could shift the warrior from it until he was ready to take advantage of some tiny shift in balance to explode back up.

When Thorin suddenly stopped, standing right before Bilbo, his sword held straight up with both hands wrapped around the hilt at breast level, the hobbit took several moments to realize the display was over. And that he was staring at the king with awe, panting far harder than the dwarf was. 

He swallowed, hopping it wasn't utterly obvious from the blush he felt suffuse his face that what he felt was unabashed hunger; though for what exactly, he'd have been hard-pressed to say. 

The spell was broken when Thorin took a deep breath of obvious pleasure and shook himself, his stance relaxing into his usual regal bearing, arms lowering to hold his sword loosely. And a familiar sardonic amusement in the crooked brow he sent the hobbit.

His chin jerking up in silent reply, Bilbo straightened. Refusing, as usual, to be bullied by the shear physical charisma of the king. "I didn't realize it was like dancing."

After losing himself so thoroughly, he couldn't help but feel pleasure at seeing Thorin's brows fly up, "I rather doubt that, master Baggins."

Surprised the words were reasonably polite rather than scathing, Bilbo replied in kind, "Why?"

He was even more surprised at the laughter Thorin let him see shinning from those pale eyes then, "Because I assure you I cannot dance."

"Cannot?" 

Self-deprecation visibly twisted the king's lips as he answered, "It is something my family insisted the prince must learn, but none of them could deny I was shameful at it even after all that. I assume hobbits dance a great deal."

Bilbo grinned, bouncing on his toes, refusing to delve on why Thorin's sudden interest in hobbits made the day feel even brighter. "I suppose we do. Youths do. And many couples seem to enjoy it. And certainly there are occasions where a good jig is the only proper way to let one's joy out." 

The dwarf watched him steadily, "..And yourself?"

Bilbo shrugged, though he still smiled faintly, returning the gaze and feeling an odd camaraderie with the king. 

The quiet moment stretched while the peaceful forest sang around them to what could be the last warm sun of the year, until Thorin abruptly nodded, as though having reached some silent decision. "You should learn to use that sword. Come." And he made to move back into the clearing without waiting for agreement.

Slightly shocked at the abrupt change of topic, Bilbo reflexively stepped backwards, eyes widening and hands out in front of himself defensively, "oh I.. I can't!" That mad urge to join the dance earlier had long past, and now he was well aware he'd merely look a fool.

Looking far kinder than Bilbo was used to seeing the king, Thorin stepped back closer to him, "You were brave leaping before me, but the little I saw and the others have described of the battle makes me think you were lucky to take those orcs by surprise. You cannot always count on such luck, my burglar," Heavy hands swallowed his shoulders gently and Thorin leaned down, eyes steady on Bilbo's, "Next time, I may need you to know more."

Resisting that intimate, gravelly voice was not something Bilbo could imagine managing, so he resigned himself with no more than a wince, "...oh, I, well.."

With a hint of a smile, Thorin stepped back expectantly and Bilbo reluctantly pulled out his letter-opener.

And spent the following long minutes stumbling through getting his stiff body into unfamiliar positions, arm rushing and fumbling to bring the blade where Thorin wanted it, even the position of fingers and wrist and elbows being shifted this way and that.

Finally letting the hobbit take a rest to catch his breath, Thorin frowned, something between worry and confusion, "You need to relax."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, "Easy for you to say."

"...Put that sword down. Now, close your eyes and picture the last time you danced one of your jigs."

With a single wary look at the dwarf, Bilbo did as asked, doing his best to clear his mind and thinking of Drogo's last birthday party, free-flowing with drink and tales of their youth. 

Thorin's deep voice was quiet, obviously pitched not to disrupt the hobbit's thoughts, "Now.. Dance." Bilbo couldn't help but frown at the request, "Please. I swear I will not laugh at anyone who can dance."

Hearing the dwarf who'd tried to intimidate him away by calling him a grocer now say 'please' in such a soft tone was worth more to him than any oath, and Bilbo only took one shaky breath before starting to move, struggling to keep his mind on memories of dance rather than on the knowledge of the eyes watching him.

 

With his burglar's eyes closed, Thorin allowed himself an unguarded smile, enjoying his unlikely saviour's finally relaxed expression as Bilbo shuffled about in a slow pattern, perhaps not with the grace of an elf, but with far more honest pleasure. 

Reaching down to pick up the hobbit's short sword, the king waited a moment more, and then consciously controlled his tone to avoid spooking his student out of his obviously far-away mood, "Here, do not jump." Carefully timing himself with Bilbo's steps, Thorin shifted his grip to hold the little sword's blade with fingers on the flats, gently touching the hilt to the hobbit's hand and letting go as soon as he felt the other's grip echo down the steel. "No!" He kept his tone absolutely soft, "Do not stop. Please, continue to dance, Bilbo. There is no sword; only your hand."

And Thorin breathed out, glad to see the hobbit return to his dance, if a little less freely than before, and with a small frown of displeasure creasing his brows; but the sword was beginning to shift with his movements. Stiffly at first, but then more naturally.

He watched attentively for a few minutes before speaking again, "Now, do not stop moving. Do you trust me?" He waited for Bilbo's nod, then stepped forward, carefully bringing Orcrist down to kiss the smaller blade, grinning briefly when Bilbo proved he actually did trust the king by barely reacting to the feel and sound of steel on steel. Thorin followed the hobbit's steps smoothly, bringing Orcrist in for another gentle hit. Getting Bilbo used to the feeling of swords meeting.

It was far less physically demanding than the forms he'd been practising before, but Thorin had to keep absolute focus on the inexperienced and blind hobbit to be sure neither of them hurt each other with their extremely sharp blades. So that by the time Bilbo grumbled, "This is not how to attack someone," he was willing to call a halt.

"Not quite." Thorin answered while stepping back, out of range, "You can stop now. No, these are not the forms used to attack or defend. But you, my gentle hobbit, need to accept that sword, to make it a part of you, an extension of your arm. Once you have done that, then we will return to learning how to thrust and parry."

 

Nodding his understanding, Bilbo stood, breathing a little hard, but smiling too. Watching a line of sweat trickle down into Thorin's beard. Thinking that that had been more fun than the last fifty birthdays parties he'd attended. He shook his head at the fanciful thought, sending Thorin a teasing grin, "You were dancing."

Though he half expected a defencive frown, all he got was the raised brow of challenge, "No, I was striking your sword."

He should let it go. He knew that. This had been such a surprisingly pleasant encounter.. but Bilbo had gotten used to living dangerously. His smile faded. Now that the thought had occurred, he found it meant more than he knew was safe, seeing as he didn't know how or if he could convince Thorin, even this new friendly Thorin, "Please, I let you try to teach me. Will you let me do the same?"

"Hobbit..." 

That growl had not been nearly convincing and Bilbo's heart lifted, a smile of anticipation rising, "Please." 

"You will continue your lessons without argument?"

Bilbo let the smile show, even though he had no doubt those lessons would be a great deal more painful than he'd like, "Yes!"

Thorin grumbled what might be Khuzdul or mere wordless annoyance, but he leaned to drop Orcrist to the ground before facing Bilbo with a very weak version of his usual glower.

Bilbo pointed down, "Boots. Off." No one could dance wearing those ankle-locking things.

The blink of a wide-eyed look he surprised from the grumpy king would be something to remember on cold nights, but he kept himself from smirking as Thorin sat down with shocking meekness to remove the footwear and expose the cloth wrappings under them. "Those too, better that you feel the ground."

"You are trying to make me into a hobbit."

For some reason, Bilbo couldn't quite laugh in response to the tease, "Would that be such a terrible thing?"

He thought he saw a bit of a smile hiding in his beard as the king rose to stand before him, and that was enough, today, for him to let it go. But Bilbo could see him stiffening, as well, and he thought for a moment, staring at his reluctant student, then leaned down to grip Orcrist, grunting at the unexpected weight of it; and the thought of the strength needed to enact the weapons practise that had started all this, had him wide-eyed as he handed the sword to the dwarf. 

Ignoring the questioning look sent his way, Bilbo cleared his throat and mentally went through his idea before speaking with a confidence he did not entirely feel, "This is the rhythm." And, looking at Thorin's hand on Orcrist rather than his expression, he started to hum; in his mind hearing a deep voice echoing in his hole in the Shire, 'Far over, the misty mountains cold'.

He saw the hand jerk before an outraged voice broke into his hum, "That is not a song of dance!"

"No." Now he looked up, relaxing to see confusion instead of true anger, "But it is a rhythm we both know. Just listen to the sound. Or better yet! Hum with me." This time when he started humming he jerked his chin up at the dwarf. And then, without further argument, there were two tones buzzing through the air.

When they finished a verse, he spoke, quick and soft, bringing his arms up to suit the words, "Cross your sword with mine."

Going back to humming, their swords crossed just above the hilt, he waited until the tension around Thorin's eyes returned to normal again, holding the gaze as calmly as he could.

And then he gently applied pressure with his hilt, sending the blades carefully arcing to the side on a high note in the song. Then slowly back across at the descending note. Down and around and up and out; slow or fast, all guided by the music. 

By the time they'd gone through a verse or so, Bilbo could feel Thorin anticipating the movements instead of waiting on his guiding pressure. And so, on the next note where they'd been raising their hands, he also pushed toward the dwarf with the hilts. And when Thorin stepped back instinctively, Bilbo took the step to follow. Then on the next shift in note, he pulled slightly, and waited for Thorin to shift his weight before taking a step back. 

He didn't step with every note, and the first time that Thorin was the one to apply pressure when Bilbo would have stood still, they both grinned. 

Back and forth and around, the lyrics of the song were long done, but they both returned to the beginning and continued to hum the rhythm, Thorin's steps getting visibly lighter, until Bilbo could see the grace he'd practised with finally accepting this new outlet. 

And around each other and around the clearing they danced, eyes locked as they took turns guiding the movements. Until Bilbo's dry throat cracked attempting to rise and he started to cough and they both laughed, rough and harsh and short, aware that they needed to stop.. and that they didn't really want to.

Bilbo let Thorin unlock their swords and he gratefully slid his into its sheath, swallowing what little spit he had and flexing his stiffened hand as he watched the dwarf slide Orcrist into the scabbard he'd laid at the edge of the clearing with his coat, then put his footwear and the coat and scabbard back on. The hobbit spoke carefully, feeling how almost raw his throat was, suddenly, but unwilling not to acknowledge what had passed. "Thank you."

Straightening and shaking himself to settle his gear, Thorin raised a brow at him, "For what, exactly, master hobbit?"

Bilbo shook his head, smiling, "You know very well, Thorin."

The only answer he got was a grunt, but the silence as they walked back to the house was that of friends.

**Author's Note:**

> I was picturing the dance as something like a slow waltz. Just for fun, try holding your hands together as though a sword stood there and playing the song. And see if I was imagining that you could dance to it...
> 
> This was the fandom where I first heard the term sword 'forms' http://www.wheeloftimerp.net/library/swordforms
> 
> and yes, there are a few Bilbo/Thorin dance fics out there that probably provided some of the fodder for this, lol


End file.
